


Shattered Dreams

by BangAndBlame_Archivist



Series: No More Awakenings by Kathy Hintze [2]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-14
Updated: 2003-03-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 09:58:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BangAndBlame_Archivist/pseuds/BangAndBlame_Archivist
Summary: By Kathy HintzeA sequel to "No More Awakenings." Is Roj Blake truly dead?





	Shattered Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Bang and Blame](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Bang_and_Blame), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Bang and Blame collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/BangAndBlame/profile).
> 
> originally published in EVERYTHING BUT THE KITCHEN SINK #4 (multimedia; 1989)
> 
> a sequel to "No More Awakenings" in issue #3

The prisoner was tired, so very tired. When would it end, this imprisonment? It had to end, one way or the other. They couldn't just forget about him, could they? No. They wouldn't forget about him. At least he hoped they didn't.

Soon, he prayed nightly, let it be soon. Nothing else mattered any more but that he wanted it finished. Nothing but the fact that he wanted to die. Death would solve everything for him. It would release him from the torment which enslaved his body and mind.

'You cannot die,' a small voice whispered within him. 'There is much yet to do. Too much to be left undone. Too many deaths unavenged. You cannot die yet.'

"Go away," he muttered angrily to the voice. "Go away and let me die. I'm tired of seeing everything I love destroyed." Tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Go away!" he sobbed and buried his face in his hands.

#

"Come on, Orac," Tarrant snapped. "You must have found something by now!"

Orac buzzed angrily at him. "Might I remind you that--"

"You may not," Avon replied sharply. "Just answer the question. Have you located Blake?"

"No."

"Well, keep on it," Tarrant urged, seeing the flicker of disappointment on Avon's face. "You know Orac, Avon," Tarrant murmured. "He's just being thorough. He'll find something."

"You're almost as much the optimist as Blake was," Avon commented.

"Is, Avon," Tarrant corrected with a slight grin.

Avon nodded. "If Duncan's assumption was correct and if the technician was not generalizing and if...."

"Did anyone ever tell you how much of a pessimist you are?" Tarrant inquired.

"Yes," Avon replied with a faint smile. "Several people have. Yourself included I think."

"Really? I'd forgotten about that. Well, what say we check the galley and see what's to eat?"

"Nothing which could measure up to Duncan's cooking, I imagine," Avon stated quietly. "I doubt Blake had...has anything more than victuals and supplements. As a matter of fact, I rarely saw him consume much of anything on board Liberator."

"He had to eat, Avon," Tarrant advised. "Everyone has to eat. Even you."

Avon glowered at him briefly, then chuckled. "Then let's go raid Blake's parlour and see what he has to offer."

#

"Number 43, are you there?"

It was his jailer. A poor wretch of a man so bent with time that it was hard to believe he was but 60 years of age.

"Where else would I be?" the prisoner answered back gruffly.

"Testy, testy, my young man," the jailer scolded. "Only when you've earned it can you become testy."

"I'm sorry," Number 43 apologized. "Have you found out anything?"

The old man nodded and laughed. "Found out anything? Found out anything? There's nobody can hide anything from old Jake, you know that. Found out what it was they was keeping you for, too." He looked at the younger man with pity in his eyes. "There's orders come up on you, son. And they're bad things, those orders. You're going to Earth."

"When?" Number 43 asked in a relieved tone.

The jailer looked at him wonderingly. "Are you daft? I said you were going to Earth. Don't you know what that means?"

"Only too well," the prisoner sighed. "An end to this, that's what it means. My freedom."

"Your death, you fool!"

"You may call it one thing, I call it freedom. Now," he continued gently, "when will they come for me?"

Jake stared at him a moment, then hung his head. "Two, three days at the most. Still some things to clear up."

"Good. I shall be ready."

"It makes no sense, Number 43," the jailer muttered, shaking his head as he turned for the door. "Why are you so anxious to die? Why?"

"I have my reasons, old friend."

"Ain't no reason for dying 'cept being too old." He spun around and glared at the prisoner. "I ain't ready to die yet!"

"I hope you live a long time," Number 43 told him in a sincere voice.

"Live longer than you will," he shot back. Jake stared at the younger man for a few minutes more, then shrugged. "Well, got other things to do than sit here talking about depressing things like death." He left the cell without another word.

Federation Prisoner Number 43 lay back down on his cot and contemplated the ceiling of his cell as he had done untold times before, then smiled, closed his eyes and went to sleep.

#

Blake's parlour, as it turned out, had even less than they'd hoped for. There were freeze dried packages of something which Avon thought resembled the innards of an extinct animal. Tarrant wrinkled his nose up at them as well, stating even the field rations given out by the Federation were better.

"There must be something edible in this place," Tarrant muttered and opened another cabinet. "Where did he come by these?" he asked in awe as he removed a large bottle of well-aged scotch from a carefully constructed holder.

Avon took it from him, read the label and smiled. "I'm not exactly sure. Vila once got hold of some of it though, and Blake was not too happy about the condition it left him in."

"Well," Tarrant went on. "It's food we're looking for, not liquor. At least not yet."

"Tarrant, I am not a child," Avon advised quietly. "I know what you're trying to do. Memories cannot harm me." He smiled again at the bottle. "Some of them even help."

Tarrant grinned a little. "Blake really tore into Vila, didn't he?"

"Tore into him might be too soft a statement. Blake had told him to remain on board and he disobeyed him." He handed the bottle back to Tarrant. "I don't know which hurt Vila more. The scolding Blake gave him or the one Cally administered. After all, you could tune Blake out but with Cally's telepathy...." He smiled even broader.

"Ouch," Tarrant said in sympathy for Vila. He put the bottle back in the cabinet and closed the door.

"Ouch indeed," Avon chuckled.

Orac's voice suddenly exploded from the ship's intercom. "I now have the data requested, if you will be so good as to attend me?'

Any further thoughts of eating were forgotten and the two men raced for the flight deck.

"It's about time," Tarrant snapped, a bit out of breath and holding his side. "Just got a catch in it," he explained before Avon could ask.

"The information, Orac, now if you please," Avon ordered.

"Very well. But I must advise it was extremely difficult to procure...."

"A fact which we are both well aware of," Avon replied tightly. "The information, Orac!"

"Orders have been transmitted to a small base on the planet Skelsar. They read as follows: Prisoner Number 43 is to be hereby transported to Federation Security Headquarters on Earth, for trial and summary execution.--Message ends."

"That message could pertain to anyone, Orac," Tarrant pointed out.

"But Orac thinks it applies to Blake," Avon countered. He lightly tapped his fingers on the top of the computer's glass casing. "Why?"

"Knowing you would wish confirmation, I...if you do not mind! I cannot transmit clearly with your constant drumming on my housing!"

Avon paused in mid-beat. "I shall do more than that unless you continue."

It was no idle threat and Orac knew it. "Very well. Knowing you would wish confirmation, I scanned the prisoner's record profile."

"Come on, Orac. Is it Blake or not?" Tarrant was tired of Orac's melodramatics.

"The records show an individual who matches Blake's physical appearance exactly."

"But what?" Avon asked, sensing some hesitation on Orac's part.

"The profile also states that the man has been a prisoner for nearly a year."

"Nearly a year?" Tarrant exclaimed.

"You're certain of this?" Avon inquired. "There was no chance of error?"

"You are accusing me of making an error?" Orac sputtered.

"It is not inconceivable," Avon answered. He glanced across at Tarrant. "What do you think?"

"It could be a trap, something Servalan set up and then abandoned."

"A possibility," Avon agreed. "And yet perhaps not. If Servalan had been behind it, why use a clone on Gauda Prime? Blake had been conditioned before. They could have done it again. No, this does not feel like any of Servalan's doing." He began tapping on Orac's housing again.

"Orac, how soon is the prisoner to be moved?"

"The orders indicate within the next three days," the computer grumbled back. He clearly did not like Avon's using him as a fingerboard.

"And how far is Skelsar from our present position?"

"At the maximum speed of this vessel, you should arrive within 16 hours."

"Excellent," Avon said with a smile. "Compute the necessary course." He turned to his companion.

"Avon, you're not thinking this through," Tarrant cautioned. "It's not like before. There are only two of us this time."

"Two will be enough, Tarrant," Avon assured him. "More than enough."

#

Like all bases, Skelsar had its night spots. Federation personnel drifted in, had a few drinks and then drifted back out. And the fact that discipline seemed almost non-existent made it even easier for the two men to choose their victim.

Tarrant acquired a young lieutenant's uniform which sorely needed cleaning, he complained after donning it. "As soon as we're back on board and away from here, this thing gets spaced." He plucked at an armpit and grimaced.

"Body lice are not unheard of," Avon commented grimly, finding his own disguise likewise infested. "Despite propaganda to the contrary." He glared at the unconscious owner of the clothing.

"It certainly is a gloomy place," Tarrant commented as they headed for the base headquarters.

"Typical Federation decor," Avon replied noting their surroundings. Bleak, stark walls rose up two stories and there was a faint rose-coloured haze about them. "Shielded," he commented quietly. "If we had a teleport, it would not have worked."

"Then it must be Blake," Tarrant whispered. "Why else have it shielded?"

"Why else indeed," Avon agreed.

"State your business," the guard at the door stated mechanically. He was obviously bored at his post but could do nothing about it.

"We've orders concerning transfer of a prisoner," Tarrant advised, handing him the papers forged by Orac.

The guard looked through them, then nodded. "Base Commander will have to sign these. Go through there," he gestured through the metal door behind him, "second door on the right."

"Thanks," Tarrant answered.

"That was easy," he whispered to Avon as they walked down the corridor.

"Almost too easy," Avon replied, his eyes darted about the hallway, looking for surveillance devices. They were there, but there were cobwebs dangling from them and a thick layer of dust lay upon them. It was possible they had ceased functioning.

"Second door he said," Tarrant advised, stopping. He straightened his attire, looking for the world like the nervous young lieutenant out on his first assignment.

"That's good enough," Avon hissed.

"It's for the monitors, Avon," Tarrant shot back.

"I doubt that they're working," he commented.

'He's as nervous as I am,' Tarrant realized and hastily opened the door. It opened directly into the Commander's office. A silver-haired man with a thick mustache glanced up from his paperwork, then grimaced. "Well, don't stand there, Lieutenant," he snarled. "What is it you want?"

"I've orders here, sir," Tarrant replied hastily, "concerning transfer of a certain prisoner."

The Commander snatched them from Tarrant's hand and scanned them briefly. "I was wondering when this one would be dealt with. Back when I was a field commander, he would have been shot immediately, but now...." He shook his head in disgust. "It says here you're to take him to Earth?"

"Yes, sir. Public trial, then execution."

"Waste of time. Man's as good as dead anyway from what the jailer tells me."

Avon spoke for the first time. "What do you mean?"

The Commander eyed him curiously. "Jake, that's the jailer, told me the prisoner's been wanting nothing more than to die since he was taken. I would have accommodated him but for orders." He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"He was not injured?" Avon inquired.

"Yes, but he's recovered. He killed four of my men before we took him. His female companion wasn't so lucky." He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a guard appeared in the doorway behind them. "Bring Prisoner 43 here."

"It's mealtime, sir," the guard advised.

"I don't care! Bring him here."

"Last free thing he'll ever get from the Federation," the Commander said in a satisfied tone.

"I'm sure it will be," Tarrant said with a grin. He glanced at Avon and the grin faded. Avon was staring at the doorway. Tarrant followed his gaze and felt himself tense. Blake was standing there, a thin, fragile-looking Blake, but it was Blake nonetheless.

"Ah, Prisoner 43," announced the Commander. "These gentlemen are to escort you to Earth."

Blake was staring at Avon with a puzzled expression. "They're to take me to Earth?" he repeated slowly.

"Yes." He signed the papers, kept one copy and passed the remaining to Tarrant. "There we are, signed, sealed and delivered. The guard will see you on you way." He waved them out of his office.

"You'll have no problem with this one," the guard advised. "Been like a lamb since they brought him in." He handed the keys to the restraints to Tarrant. "Wish I was going with him. Been here nearly two years now. I miss Earth."

"Nothing's changed much," Tarrant told him.

"Still beats this hole in the Universe," the guard muttered.

Tarrant took a look about and nodded in agreement. "Most anything would. Come on." He took Blake by the arm and led him away from the building.

"Who are you?" Blake whispered. "You're not Federation. Who are you?"

Avon stared at him. "Blake, look at me."

He did so, his forehead wrinkling in thought. "You seem familiar, but where I don't know."

"They've done something to him," Avon surmised. "Once we're back on the ship, Orac will be able to tell us what and how to remove it."

"Orac? You have Orac?" He seemed very excited about that.

"Of course, we have Orac," Avon replied sharply. "You did leave him with us, you know."

"I did?" Blake looked very puzzled.

"His mind has definitely been tampered with," Tarrant agreed.

"No one has touched my mind," Blake objected.

"And that proves it," Avon stated. "Blake, even if you had no mind, you would remember me. Think hard."

"I am thinking hard," Blake thundered. "I do not--" A shadow of something passed in his eyes.

"What is it?"

"I...nothing. I thought for a moment...no, it's nothing."

"Blake, what did you see?" Avon demanded.

"Nothing, I said," he exclaimed angrily.

"It will keep until we're at the ship," Tarrant said, glancing about. The last thing they needed was to attract attention. Fortunately, no one had heard them.

#

"You're a good pilot," Blake commended Tarrant after take-off. "Almost as good as--" He stopped, blinking tears which had appeared in his eyes.

"It's all right, Blake," Tarrant comforted. "We know about Jenna. We know she's dead."

"Jenna? I know Jenna is dead. That's what set him off, her death."

"Set who off?" Avon asked.

"Blake. Jenna's death, it did something to him. He stopped communicating, stopped sending supplies to us, everything." He looked at Avon again with that sudden flicker of something in his eyes. "You're Avon, aren't you?" he asked.

"So now you remember me," Avon replied.

"He spoke often of you, wondering where you and Vila and the other one...the alien were."

"Cally," Tarrant supplied.

"Yes, Cally. She was the telepath. He spoke of you three often."

"Did he now?" Avon inquired. "Fetch Orac, Tarrant, so we can get this cleared up."

"Why didn't you look for him?" Blake asked after Tarrant had left the room.

"Why didn't you try to contact us?" Avon countered.

"He told me he was afraid to, afraid you wouldn't have let him come back."

"Blake, you would have been welcome," Avon assured him. "As long as you remembered your promise."

"What promise?"

"Don't you remember? You said Liberator would be mine when Star One was destroyed."

"He said that?"

"No, Blake, you said it," Avon shot back. He was beginning to lose his patience.

"I did not," Blake replied. "Avon," he smiled a little at the name, "Avon, I did not promise such a thing. I would remember if I had."

Tarrant arrived then carrying Orac. "Orac says there are no signs of pursuit ships or Federation vessels in the area. So we're safe."

"For the moment," Avon amended. "Something's been done to Blake, Orac. What were not sure. He denies his mind was tampered with but it is very apparent that it has been."

"The Federation profile of his imprisonment on Skelsar indicated no interrogation beyond normal, nor was any conditioning conducted."

"Then it was deliberately removed from the records," Avon stated. "Blake has gaps in his memory and he keeps referring to himself as another entity."

"Hmmm. Allow me to run some tests. If Blake is willing, of course?"

"But there is nothing wrong with me," Blake protested.

"Then you won't mind if we make sure," Tarrant replied. "Sit down and relax."

Orac buzzed and hummed for some twenty minutes before he came back on line. "Most interesting, most interesting indeed. There is no sign of recent conditioning."

"But--" Avon began only to have Orac cut him off.

"But there is evidence that at some past time conditioning had been administered to him."

"Orac, we don't care about then," Tarrant exclaimed. "What's the matter with Blake now?"

"Why, nothing is wrong with him," Orac advised flatly. "Because this is not Blake."

His statement brought a silence to the infirmary that was finally broken by Avon. "Then who is he?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

"I thought it obvious. The man who stands before you is Blake's clone, the one Duncan mistakenly thought killed on Gauda Prime."

"Then the man on Gauda Prime really was Blake?" Tarrant murmured in horror. He glanced at Avon and found him shaking, pale and barely able to stand.

"Blake is dead?" the clone asked in wonder.

"Yes," Tarrant replied, sliding a chair beneath Avon before he collapsed.

"What is the matter with Avon?"

"Go away," Tarrant told him.

"Where exactly should he go?" Orac inquired. "Out the airlock?'

"Orac, your presence is just as unwanted at this moment," Avon snarled. He shook off Tarrant's offer of help and stood up, staring at the clone. "I should have guessed from the beginning," he continued. "There was something not quite right about you. Your complacency. Blake would never have allowed himself to be led."

"And you did?" the clone asked. "Not according to him, you didn't. You fought him every step of the way."

"Someone had to make him see reason," Avon defended. "His noble cause was a child's fantasy."

"A fantasy? What is the Federation then, Avon? I'll tell you. It's a nightmare!"

Avon stared at the man standing before him. For a split second, it seemed as if Blake was here, arguing with him. But no, Blake was dead, by his hand on Gauda Prime. That which stood before him was a cruel joke, as Duncan had been a cruel joke. Servalan's last laugh perhaps.

"What do we do now, Avon?" Tarrant asked.

"Do?" Avon replied. "I don't know. I don't really care." He walked quickly from the room.

"Tarrant, what is the matter with Avon?" the clone asked.

"You figure it out." Tarrant hurried after Avon.

That left only one being he could ask and the clone did just that.

#

Two hours later, his face haggard and pale, the clone emerged from the room and began searching for the others. Tarrant was found almost immediately. He was on the flight deck, familiarizing himself with the ship's controls.

"Where's Avon?" the clone asked.

"I'll say this once," Tarrant said in a warning voice. "Stay away from Avon. A clone nearly killed him once before. I won't let it happen again."

"Vila's clone, you mean," the bogus Blake replied. "Orac told me about Duncan. He sounded like a reasonable person. More reasonable than you're being right now, in fact."

"Don't press me," Tarrant said, standing up. His hand was resting on his gun. "I don't think Avon would mind if you just disappeared. In fact, he might even welcome it."

"Do you really believe that?" the clone inquired cocking an eyebrow. "I don't think you do. You're not one to kill so casually or you would have done it long ago." He settled into a vacant chair and studied Tarrant. "You also would not have lasted as long as you have with Avon. He's not one to keep hot-blooded young men around him. Not unless he's changed a great deal since when Blake knew him."

"How could you possibly know all of that?" Tarrant demanded.

"Orac filled me in on a few things," the bogus Blake replied quietly. "He also told me about Gauda Prime and what happened there." His eyes darkened. "I must tell you, Tarrant, I do not understand why it happened but I think I know what caused it or at least part of it."

"What does it matter?" Tarrant snapped. "It happened, Blake and the others are dead. It's over."

"Do you really think so?" the clone inquired, watching him. "The Federation still exists. Blake's enemy still lives."

'What is he getting at?' Tarrant wondered to himself. "Speak plainly," he demanded.

"I intend to, but not with you standing there as if I were some wild animal about to attack you. There is something you should know about me, Tarrant. I was created by the Clone Masters, synthetically created. There's not a single cell of Blake in me as there was Vila in Duncan. I am not truly a human clone but rather a facsimile of one."

"But you look human," Tarrant pointed out.

"Oh yes, I look human. I can go through all the motions of a human being, I can bleed and die like a human. I even have feelings like humans. But in the real sense, I am not human. The cells I was constructed from were synthesized by the Clone Masters. Their knowledge made what the Federation did to create Duncan child's play. There were masters as their name implied. And being masters, they knew the price they would someday pay for their vast knowledge. That is why above all else they taught peace to their creations. They taught us the true value of life, that all life is sacred, from the lowest insect to the most complex being in the Universe. That is why I could never harm you or Avon, no matter what you did to me."

"But you have already harmed us," Tarrant shot back.

"I cannot help what I look like," the clone replied patiently. "But perhaps I can redeem myself and help Blake's cause. Please, sit down and let me explain."

"A year and one-half ago, a ship similar to this one came to my world. Blake was on board with his pair-mate, Jenna."

"Pair-mate?" Tarrant asked incredulously. "The Jenna Stannis I've heard of would never be anyone's pair-mate."

"Jenna said that, too. She was a very suspicious woman. Anyway, Blake had come back for IMIPAC. He wanted to use it against the Federation. I told him he could not have it. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could be used against him and millions of others. And we needed it to protect ourselves. He seemed upset at first, but then he agreed. They stayed for nearly a week, speaking of their missing companions and the adventures they had shared. My pair-mate and I had not seen anyone for a long time and it was sad when he and Jenna left, but he said he had to get back to the rebellion. But he did promise to send us supplies every now and then. Food was not easy to find on my world.

"It was nearly six months later when Jenna returned. She said it was vitally important she have IMIPAC. Again, I said no, and this time she shoved a gun in my face and threatened me with it. I refused but my pair-mate feared for me and gave the device to her. My mate was my life, Tarrant, as I was hers."

"I understand," Tarrant answered, remembering Zeeona.

"The Federation must have followed her. She sent a quick message to us, warning us, and then there was nothing but static and we knew she had been destroyed. Without IMIPAC, we were helpless when the Federation landed their ship and sent their men out searching. We knew the best places to hide and did so. Many times the guards came near us, but they never found us. Those fool-hardy enough to descend into the darkness never came back as the beasts claimed them."

"And Blake? How did he find out about Jenna?" They turned to find Avon standing in the doorway. He was pale and haggard, but his eyes held a look of resignation.

"Two days after her death, Blake arrived with two other ships looking for her. I told him what I knew." The clone shook his head. "He stared at me in disbelief, then turned and charged out of the room, screaming. I never saw him again. The supply ships bringing us food dwindled after that, then stopped all together. I thought perhaps we had been forgotten, but then the Federation came back, this time with heat-seeking devices."

His eyes darkened with pain. "My pair-mate had told me she had destroyed her weapon, but she had not. When the guards came too close to our hiding place, she killed two of them. Then she was shot by another."

He clenched his hands tightly. "What happened after that I am not sure. I...was not myself. I forgot all I had been taught by the Clone Masters. I killed, not once but four times with my bare hands. Then one of the guards shot me. When I came to, I was on a starship headed for Jevron. Then my wound was treated and I was sent on to Skelsar. The rest you know."

"But why wasn't your arrest made public?" Tarrant asked. "I mean you looked like Blake and those men capturing you had to have seen that."

"You're forgetting something, Tarrant," Avon stated. "Servalan said she saw Blake on Jevron."

"A lie she told you," the younger man replied.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Or maybe she saw exactly that."

"You think someone else planned it? A trap perhaps?" the bogus Blake inquired.

"Possibly," Avon said with a nod. "A trap which was never put into effect."

"Then why was I being sent to Earth after all this time?"

"I don't know," Avon confessed. "It could not have been Servalan. She is dead."

"I know," the clone said quietly. "Orac told me what happened on Gauda Prime."

"Then you also know what else happened there," Avon went on.

"Yes," the twin Blake sighed. "You saved Tarrant's life."

"Small comfort for the lives lost," Avon shot back.

"Do you seek absolution?" the clone inquired, lifting an eyebrow in a gesture Avon had seen Blake do countless times.

"No." He glanced at Tarrant a moment. "No, what happened there is in the past. I do not wish to discuss it further."

"Neither do I," the clone agreed.

"All right then," Tarrant spoke up. "You said you had an idea, Bl...uh...."

"Call me Adam," the clone announced. "My mate gave me the name and it was not inappropriate since she and I were the only humanoid inhabitants on our world."

"All right, 'Adam'," Avon replied tightly. "What is this idea of yours?"

"It's quite simple, Avon. I will finish what Blake started. With all of the personnel at the base on Gauda Prime killed, there will be none to know otherwise."

"You're assuming that I...." Avon glanced at Tarrant, "we wish to continue fighting the Federation."

"I thought that was why you and Tarrant rescued 'Blake'," Adam returned. "Without him, you had little chance of doing it."

"Blake is dead," Tarrant reminded him.

"But only the three of us know that," Adam advised.

"The Federation knows it, too," Tarrant pointed out.

"So we spread the word that the man killed on Gauda Prime was not Blake but a facsimile," Adam explained. "A clone. We shall turn the tables on them, so to speak."

"You use the term 'we' quite liberally," Avon shot back. "Do you honestly believe that we could succeed in such a venture?"

"We can but try, Avon. If you and Tarrant are willing, I am."

Avon exchanged looks with Tarrant. It was clear the younger man was willing, but only if Avon consented to do it. And there was the slim possibility that the clone's plan...Adam's plan, he corrected, might work.

"How much did Blake tell you of his organization?" Avon inquired.

"Not as much as I would have liked," Adam replied ruefully. "He didn't seem to trust anyone with the information. Jenna knew, I think, but no one else."

"Sounds like Blake was finally acquiring some sense," Avon mused. "The problem now is how do we contact his people."

"What about Orac?" Adam offered. "He might be able to find out."

"If we can get him to stop pouting," Tarrant chuckled. "He gets rather peevish about being left out of things."

Adam laughed with him. "That's what Blake said."

"I'd better go fetch him," Tarrant said, "so we can start planning."

"He's an eager one, isn't he?" Adam asked Avon after Tarrant had left.

"Too eager," Avon replied.

Adam studied Avon a moment. "I know this is not easy for you, Avon. Believe me, I do understand."

Avon eyed him coolly. "Do you really?"

"Orac told me about Duncan. And I know how much you cared for Vila."

"How much I--" Avon glared at him. "Whoever said that lied!"

Adam smiled. "I don't think Blake would have lied about it. Even Jenna said there was something between you two. She just didn't know what."

"Blake, Vila and Duncan belong to the pest," Avon snapped. "Let them remain there."

"You're right, of course," Adam apologized hastily. "I just wish I could have known him; Vila, that is. Blake spoke of him with great fondness."

"He was a man of many talents," Avon conceded quietly.

"As are you, Avon," Adam commented gently. Tarrant arrived then bearing Orac, who was complaining about the younger men's handling.

"Be careful, you clumsy oaf," the computer exclaimed as Tarrant set him down in front of his companions. "My internal mechanisms are not to be jarred."

"You were right, Tarrant," Adam laughed. "He is mad because he missed out."

"Missed out?" echoed the computer. "Kindly clarify your statement."

"There is nothing to clarify as nothing of interest was discussed," Avon advised.

"Nothing? Then why am I being disturbed? I was in the midst of several intense studies of...."

"We've no interest in your studies, Orac," Avon stated firmly. "What we require is information. Information on Blake's organization."

Orac buzzed sounding like a very angry insect looking for someone to strike at. "And how do you expect me to locate such information?" he demanded.

"Why, Orac, you're the very best at doing that," Tarrant teased. "Or so you've always claimed."

"Perhaps finding Blake's people would be too difficult," Adam suggested. "After all, I doubt he kept any records where someone might find them."

"If what you say about him was true," Avon stated, "it is entirely possible that no such records exist. In which case...."

"In which case," Orac interrupted, "you will have wasted my valuable time."

"You mean you will look for them?" Adam asked hopefully.

"I believe that is what I stated," the computer grumbled. "It is, in all probability, the only way in which I shall be rid of your constant interruptions."

"Am I hearing right?" Tarrant inquired in a surprised tone. "Orac is offering to help us?"

"You are," Avon confirmed. "And I'm not sure I like that."

"Then you will not like what I have just intercepted," Orac said smugly. "The base on Skelsar has just issued an alert."

"Has it been received by anyone but yourself?" Avon demanded.

"As yet, there has been no response to the...." Orac buzzed a second, then came back on line. "Correction. A Mark IV pursuit ship, likely the one carrying your counterparts, has just acknowledged the message."

"Then they'll be looking for us," Tarrant said, slipping into his pilot's chair.

"Can this ship outdistance a Mark IV starship?" Adam asked.

"We're about to find out," Tarrant answered. "Better buckle yourselves in."

#

Even buckling in didn't help as they were tossed from side to side from the impacts of the plasma bolts as they struck the forcewall of the small ship. Then a klaxon sounded.

"What is it?" Avon cried over the scream.

"Hull's been perforated," Tarrant shouted back. "I've sealed off that section of the ship."

"Will it hold?" Adam asked anxiously.

"If we don't take another hit there, it should. Blake outfitted this ship very well." Tarrant looked at his scanner and smiled broadly. "Now that's what I call luck."

"What?"

"Asteroids, scores of them."

"And you call that luck?" Avon didn't think so. The look on his face clearly indicated that.

"Back at the academy," Tarrant elaborated with a grin, "we used to play games with them. Lots of fun and it kept your reflexes at peak."

"I trust your reflexes are still up to par?" Adam inquired.

"I'm a bit rusty," Tarrant confessed. "But dodging plasma bolts has helped."

Avon did not point out the fact that they had taken more hits than misses. Tarrant needed all of the confidence he could get at the moment.

"Ready?" Tarrant called. "Here we go!"

#

The captain of the Federation starship stared at the fleeing vessel in shock. "What exactly does that fool think he's doing?" he demanded of his exec.

"Committing suicide would be my guess, sir," the officer replied.

"Well, we're not about to join him. How wide is the asteroid field?" he inquired of his scanner technician.

"Difficult to tell, sir. Something is jamming our signal. Probably some of the ore contained in the field."

"Are we going to follow them, captain?" inquired one of the younger officers, an ensign by his insignia.

"Do you want to die?" the captain asked him.

"No, of course not, sir. But we can't let them get away. You heard the orders."

"I doubt very much they will escape," the captain assured him. "He'd have to be an extraordinary pilot with enough luck for three men on his side." He smiled grimly. "And there are very few of those men left nowadays." He watched the screen for a few minutes more, then turned around. "Contact Skelsar. Tell them our position and what has transpired. Let them come and pick up the pieces if they want to. We've other things to do."

"But what about...." the young ensign began, but the captain turned and left the flight deck without another word.

"A word of advice," the exec said, coming up beside the younger man. "Never contradict your commanding officer."

"But I didn't. I just...." He stopped. The exec had walked away from him too.

#

"They're not following, are they?" Tarrant asked as he continued to guide the ship through the maze of death.

"Only a fool would have attempted it to begin with," Avon shot beck.

"It was the only way we could escape, Avon," Adam spoke up. "You know that as well as I."

"Orac, have they given up?" Avon inquired.

"It appears they have. Of course, had they known the length of the asteroid field, they most certainly would not have."

"Their forward scanners should have been able to tell them that," Tarrant called over his shoulder.

"That is correct. But I was jamming their scanners, rendering them useless."

"Sometimes you manage to amaze even me, Orac," Avon stated flatly.

The lights in the glass casing flickered at the compliment. "Hmmm. I shall now proceed with the task you requested of me."

"That's the last of them," Tarrant exclaimed with a grin as they cleared the field. He flexed his fingers. "Nice to know I haven't forgotten how to do that."

"Very well done, Tarrant," Adam congratulated, dropping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly.

"Yes. But next time give us a little more warning, will you?" Avon requested.

Tarrant turned about and smiled broadly. "Scanners show no ships in the area." He looked at Avon a moment, then asked, "You weren't worried, were you?"

"Not particularly," Avon replied flatly. He stood up and stretched, wincing as he discovered some aches and pains he had acquired during their escape.

"Is it hard to fly a ship?" Adam inquired of Tarrant.

"This ship isn't," he replied. "Would you like to learn?"

"Very much so."

"Then I'll leave you to it," Avon announced.

#

It was starting again. The nightmare Avon thought he'd laid to rest. Blake staring up at him, trying to speak but only blood poured from his mouth.

Then Vila appeared in front of him. He said nothing at first, just stared at him with a horrified expression on his face. Then he asked in an anguished voice, "Why, Avon? Why?"

Avon woke with a curse, hurtling his coverlet from him. His hands were sweaty and his face wet with tears. "Damn you all to hell," he cried, covering his face with his hands. "Why must you haunt me?"

There was a knock at his door. "Avon, are you all right?"

Adam...Blake...no, Adam, not Blake. What did it matter? He was here, haunting him in the flesh. But Adam was not Blake, a small part of his mind insisted. That chapter of his life was closed, sealed, must be forgotten if he was to retain his sanity. If he was to retain anything!

He washed his face and tried to compose himself as he walked to the door. "What is it, Adam?" he asked, opening the door.

"I thought I heard you cry out," the other man said after a pause. He saw Avon's face and hastily added, "Didn't mean to disturb you."

"Through with your lessons already?" Avon inquired, choosing to ignore Adam's statement.

"Already? It's been four hours since you left the flight deck."

"Four hours?" 'I must have been more tired than I thought,' he mused to himself. "Has Orac found anything?"

"That's why I came to fetch you."

"Orac, there is no reason we have to bother Avon. He needs to rest," Tarrant was saying as they arrived on the flight deck.

"Four hours was quite enough," Avon announced. "What has Orac found out?"

"With you here, maybe he'll tell us now," Tarrant explained. "He wouldn't before."

"Of course, I would not. Repetition of data is a waste of time. Now that all are assembled, I will proceed."

"One of these days, Orac, you will go too far."

"As you did, Kerr Avon?" the computer shot back.

"Just get on with it," Adam snapped.

"Very well. Information was scarce but I have been able to locate at least part of what you seek. It appears Blake and Avalon had formed an alliance and were coordinating battle plans."

"How long ago was this, Orac?" Adam inquired. "Blake mentioned something about Avalon to us when he first came to my world," he explained to the others. "Something about a big raid which would weaken the Federation considerably."

"The information is dated some three months ago."

"Three months?" Tarrant repeated. "I wonder if he succeeded in whatever it was?"

"I doubt it," Avon replied. "Orac would have picked up something if they had. Orac, is there any information on what this raid Adam spoke of entailed?"

"Negative. Perhaps a visit to Avalon might be in order?" the computer suggested.

"I don't like this, Avon," Tarrant announced. "Orac is suddenly being very helpful. Why?"

"I thought that abundantly clear, numbwit," Orac snapped. "My assistance now will guarantee my uninterrupted studies later."

"You drive a hard bargain, Orac," Adam chuckled.

"And you do not?"

Adam hastily cleared his throat. "Well, uh, what should we do now, Avon?"

"The next move would be to contact Avalon," Avon replied. "Orac, do you know the codes Blake used to contact Avalon?"

"Of course."

Avon glanced at Tarrant and received his nod. "Adam?" he asked, turning to the clone.

"No, Avon," he corrected gently. "From now on, the name is Blake. Roj Blake." He held out his hand.

Avon stared at him a long time, then finally took his hand and shook it. "Very well, Blake. But on one condition."

Tarrant held his breath, hoping that whatever it was, Adam would agree to it.

"And that is?" the new Roj Blake asked.

"This time, we do things my way."

Blake smiled at him. "Of course, Avon. Anything you say. I wouldn't have it any other way."

The clone said it innocently enough, but Tarrant got the distinct impression that it wasn't going to work that way. No, he really didn't think it would, but it certainly would keep things interesting.

the end


End file.
